“I know,” she said. “Isn’t it delightful?”
* * *
The following day, Aunt Lydia drove me home. Or rather, to Richard’s house. He met us at the car as soon as my aunt pulled into his driveway. Putting his arm around me, he helped me navigate the porch stairs.
“See”—I leaned into him as I lifted my cane slightly—“Aunt Lydia and I match.”
“I see. I also see that I will have no dance partners today.” Richard caressed my shoulder. “So you must endure watching other people perform my choreography.”
“Not you?” I asked as he guided me into the house.
“Maybe a bit of that too. If you can stand it.” Richard led me across the room and helped me settle onto the sofa.
“You moved the coffee table.”
Richard scooted an ottoman in front of me. “So you can prop your foot. Here, I’ll help lift your leg.”
Aunt Lydia watched this little scene from the edge of the seating area, amusement dancing in her blue eyes. “May I take the armchair? Looks comfortable enough.”
“Of course.” Richard raked his hands through his hair. He was flustered again, which was, I had to admit, rather adorable.
Before Aunt Lydia sat down, she surveyed the rest of the room. “Dance studio. Different, but sensible. Are you planning to teach here?”
“No, I don’t think so. I get enough of that at work. This is for me.” Richard crossed to the bookcase. He plucked an object from the shelf that held Paul Dassin’s photograph. “Thought you might want to see this,” he said, handing it to Aunt Lydia before he sat beside me.
“Ah, the brooch Amy told me about. Finally.” Aunt Lydia shot me a look before settling back against the chair cushions. “Poor Eleanora. All she wanted to do was help people with her herbal medicines.”
“Brad told me they are going to inter her bones in a grave right beside Daniel,” I said. “I know it’s silly, because if they are anywhere, it isn’t here, but I think they’d both like that.”
“I’m sure they would.” Richard placed his right arm around my shoulder and drew me to his side.
Aunt Lydia stared up at the high ceiling, apparently studying the wrought-iron light fixture. But I knew she was actually thinking about the same thing that had been on my mind for days—Rose.
“She said so many strange things in her later years,” she mused. “Grandma Rose, I mean. I didn’t think anything of it, other than how her mind had slipped into some twilight world where time and words had little meaning.” She lowered her head and stared directly at Richard and me. “But now I can see a pattern.”
“She wanted to confess, I think,” I said. “Sylvia claimed she actually did once, when she mistook her for someone else.”
“Yes, I can believe that.” Aunt Lydia curled her fingers around the gold brooch resting in her palm. “She did ramble on about the ‘cold and dark’ quite a bit. And about guilt. I thought she meant Eleanora’s guilt, but now I suppose she meant her own.”
“But why would Eleanora visit Rose after the trial?” Richard asked. “She knew Rose was her enemy.”
“I think I’ve figured that out. I found a letter once when clearing out Rose’s things. Again, I thought little of it at the time. But now”—Aunt Lydia leaned forward—“it holds more significance.”
“Something Rose wrote?” I snuggled closer to Richard, allowing my still-sore body to relax.
“No, something she received. A letter from her mother, written when her parents took her brother to tour military academies. William was fifteen and wanted to attend an academy for his last few years of high school. Thought of joining the service, I suppose, although he never actually did. Anyway, the letter was dated a few weeks after the conclusion of Eleanora’s trial. Rose’s mother wrote the usual pleasantries, but she also urged Rose to make peace with Eleanora. Suggested she invite her over to the house and make her apologies.”
“So Rose was alone at the house during that time?”
“Yes. She was seventeen, which was considered adult in those days. Anyway, the rest of the family was gone for weeks, traveling from one school to another. Rose was home alone, taking care of the house and garden.”
“And she did invite Eleanora over, but not to apologize,” Richard said.
“Apparently.” Aunt Lydia sat back and unclenched her fingers, exposing a glint of gold. “It’s the only way I can imagine Eleanora’s brooch turning up in Rose’s garden.”
“I don’t think Rose meant to kill her,” I said slowly. “Maybe she just wanted to hurt her, like Rose felt she’d been hurt. But then things got out of hand, and Eleanora fled into the woods.”
“And tumbled into the abandoned well, just as you did. And like Sylvia, Rose left her victim there, all alone, to die. She must have considered it fate, doling out proper justice. She used to mutter about fate and justice quite a bit in her ramblings.” The lines bracketing Aunt Lydia’s mouth deepened. “So Amy, there was a reason for our house to be haunted. I know you’re a skeptic, but I believe the ghost of Eleanora was trapped in the house where her ordeal began. A lost soul, intending no harm, but struggling over the years to convince someone in our family to give her the justice she deserved. Perhaps she haunted Rose, who went mad but still refused to confess the truth. Then she tried to reach Debbie and then me.” Aunt Lydia sighed. “But none of us would listen. It took you to reveal the truth.”
“But not due to a ghost’s requests.” I adjusted my cast until its weight was better supported on my knee. “It was just the right circumstances at the right time. Although I admit that if anyone had a reason to haunt our family, it was Eleanora.”
“You think so?” Richard asked. “I wonder.”
I glanced up at him. His intense gaze was fixed on the ceiling, but it seemed as if he was looking inward.
“Well, whatever else we disagree on, I think we can all acknowledge that it’s a tragic story for everyone involved.”
“Yeah, a ballet scenario, for sure,” Richard looked down and gave me a little smile. “And on that note, allow me to inflict my choreography on you while I fix lunch.” He kissed my left temple before he stood and grabbed a remote from the side table. He waved the remote at Aunt Lydia as he crossed to the rack of audiovisual equipment. “You asked for it.”
“So I did.” She laid the brooch on the side table next to her chair.
Once Richard turned on the system and queued up his videos, he left the room to fix lunch.
“That’s him, dancing, isn’t it?” Aunt Lydia asked at one point.
“Yeah, that’s him,” I replied, tearing my gaze off the television screen just long enough to glance at her.
“Hmm . . .” Aunt Lydia tapped her fingers against her lips. “Just like my Andrew. Sexy as all hell.”
“Aunt Lydia!” I fanned my face with my good hand.
She just settled deeper into the chair and grinned.
* * *
Aunt Lydia left after lunch, claiming she needed a nap.
“No, you stay, Amy. Richard can bring you home later,” she told me as she headed for the front door.
“She arranged that so we’d have time alone,” I said after the front door closed.
Richard sat beside me on the sofa. “I knew I liked her. Now I think I love her.”
“Don’t tell her that. She might decide to fight me for you.”
He chuckled. “Not sure I can juggle the two of you. But it’s tempting.”
“You’re so full of it.”
Richard tugged me closer, until I was settled snuggly against him. “If I’m full of anything,” he said, tracing my lips with his fingers, “it’s love for you, Amy Webber.”
Cradled in his arms, my sprained ankle and broken wrist carefully protected, I sighed and closed my eyes.
“Then kiss me, you romantic, you.”
Which he did. Extremely well and for quite some time.
Chapter Thirty
A month later, after the Virginia Depa
rtment of Forensic Science completed its analysis of the bones found in the well, Eleanora Cooper was laid to rest beside her husband.
Aunt Lydia handed out tissues to Sunny, Richard, Brad, Walt, Zelda, and me as we clustered together at the edge of the crowd. We all needed tissues to wipe away perspiration, not tears. It was a hot summer day, and most of the town had turned out for the burial, crowding the old Lutheran church cemetery.
They had come to honor the woman the town had dishonored for long. I knew their remorse was partially due to my ordeal in the well, which made it almost worth it. Finally, Eleanora’s name had been cleared. While recuperating, I had written a post for the town website, detailing the truth about Daniel’s death as well as the cover-up connected to the orphanage tragedy. With Aunt Lydia’s permission, I had also included Rose’s involvement in Eleanora’s death.
It might’ve been my family history, but it was the truth, and both my aunt and I agreed that it needed to be told.
I pulled my left arm free of Richard’s crooked elbow to wipe the sweat from my upper lip. None of us had worn black, feeling that this was not truly a sorrowful occasion, but my pale-pink linen dress was still sticking to my thighs. I pocketed the tissue and plucked my dress away from my legs before clasping Richard’s right hand.
“So many flowers,” he said as Zelda stepped forward to prop a wreath of lilies against the base of the headstone.
“A lot of people needed to make amends,” I replied.
He tightened his grip on my left hand. “That they did.”
I had it on good authority—Zelda’s, to be precise—that Kurt Kendrick had paid for Eleanora’s coffin and the new headstone set over both her and her husband’s graves. Etched into the smooth gray stone was the inscription, Daniel James Cooper, 1898–1925, and Beloved Wife, Eleanora Heron Cooper, 1900–1925.
The generous gift had done nothing to mollify Aunt Lydia. “Well, he has plenty of money to throw around,” she’d said when I’d told her what Kendrick had done.
After the brief service, Richard and I lingered with Aunt Lydia, Walt, Zelda, and Sunny until most of the other people had left the cemetery. Brad made his apologies, saying he needed to supervise traffic, before telling Sunny he’d see her later.
“Date?” I asked.
“Could be,” she replied with a sly smile.
Inhaling a deep breath of the honeysuckle-scented air, I released Richard’s fingers and held out my hand to Sunny. She passed me a bunch of flowering herbs tied with golden ribbons before handing Richard a matching bouquet.
I clutched my flowers in my left hand. My ankle had healed, but my right wrist was still encased in a cast, although I’d been assured that it could be removed soon.
Sharing a glance, Richard and I walked forward and bent down to lay one bouquet on the fresh grave and one on the grass-covered one.
“Together at last,” I said, straightening.
“Oh, I think they were already together,” Richard said as Sunny moved up beside him. Aunt Lydia stayed back, chatting with Walt and Zelda.
“You think so?” she asked.
Richard looked thoughtful. “Can’t imagine they’d be separated in the afterlife just because they weren’t buried together. I think their love would’ve overcome something like that.”
“Always the romantic,” I said, sliding my left arm around his waist.
He leaned over to give me a brief kiss. “Always.”
“But I’ve been thinking.” Sunny’s expression was unexpectedly solemn. “Considering everything that happened, I’m not sure there weren’t spiritual forces at work. There were some weird coincidences, you have to admit.”
Richard slid his right arm around my waist so we were locked together. “What are you saying, Sunny?”
“Not entirely sure. I’m aware you guys don’t believe in ghosts or anything like that . . .”
I shook my head, but Richard said, “I like to keep an open mind.”
“Yeah, so”—Sunny turned to face us directly—“think about it. Amy just happens to dig up that brooch after so many years, and the herbal turns up when everyone thought it was lost . . .”
“And the curio cabinet, popping open to lead Amy to that book.” Richard narrowed his eyes. “Twice.”
“Now come on,” I said, but I paused for a moment before I spoke again. “Something did scare Sylvia away from that barn after she shot Don. Something she saw or thought she saw. And a gust of wind blew off Sylvia’s aim when she tried to shoot me in the well. On an evening when there wasn’t even a breeze.”
Sunny clapped her hands together. “See, it’s all very mysterious.”
“And you think it was what?” Richard asked her.
“Why, Eleanora Cooper’s ghost, of course. Seeking to reveal the truth about what really killed Daniel, as well as the true story of her own death.”
I shifted my weight off my left foot, which still occasionally ached if I stood too long. “You think Eleanora protected me too?”
“Sure, why not? She didn’t want to see someone else die like she did, so desperate and alone.”
“I don’t know.” I looked up at Richard. “I have trouble believing in ghosts.”
“It could just be coincidence.” He met my gaze, his gray eyes shadowed under his black lashes. “Probably.”
“I still believe it was Eleanora—or even Daniel. Maybe his spirit was seeking justice for his wife and others. It had to be one of them. And no one is going to convince me otherwise.” Sunny knelt before the graves and laid her fingers against her breast, over her heart. “Thank you,” she said, bowing her head.
She rose to her feet and moved past us, touching Richard’s arm. “Think about it. I’m sure that one may be impossible to convince”—she jerked her thumb toward me—“but I know what I’ll always believe.” She strode off to join my aunt, Walt, and Zelda, who were leaving the cemetery.
Richard and I stood alone before the two graves for a few minutes, our arms still entwined.
“Can you possibly believe that?” I asked him.
“No,” he said, drawing out the word, his eyes focused on the headstone.
“Yeah, that’s Sunny, though. A darling, but willing to consider some pretty wild theories.”
“That’s not it.” Richard pulled away and looked down at me. His expression was so serious, I sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s just that I don’t think either Daniel or Eleanora would’ve ever felt the need to haunt anyone. They were innocent, and they both knew that, even before they died.”
“Sure,” I replied, curious where he was taking this line of thought. “They loved one another and stayed true, no matter what.”
“Yeah, and I like to think they’ve been together, all this time. Together in a better place than this, not just forever, but also from the moment Eleanora died.” Richard lifted his right hand to caress my jawline. “They had each other. There was no reason for them to return to this earthly plane.”
“So no ghosts.” I leaned my face against his palm.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He cradled my chin and kissed me once before dropping his hand. “Think about it, Amy. There is one person who had a reason to return, if anyone did. Not saying it happened. I honestly don’t know if I could ever truly believe in such a thing. But if it were possible, I think there was someone else involved who had a better motive. Someone who needed to expiate her sins. To find a little grace . . .”
“Rose,” I said before swallowing hard.
Richard nodded. “If it was anyone, I think it would’ve been Rose.” He looked up over my head at the clear summer sky. “But even so, now it’s done, and she’s at peace too. At last.”
I pressed my head against his shoulder and felt his heart beating strongly beneath my ear. “You really are the world’s greatest romantic, aren’t you?” I murmured.
“I am.” He tipped up my chin with one finger. “Now why don’t we head back to my house so I can properly prove that?”
“Tha
t sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in long time.” I kissed him before we turned and left the cemetery, arm in arm.
And if a little breeze caressed our hair, carrying the scent of roses . . . well, that was all right with me.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to
My agent, Frances Black, at Literary Counsel.
You told me I could do it, and I did! My heartfelt thanks for your sage advice, professional expertise, and unwavering support.
My editor at Crooked Lane Books, Faith Black Ross.
Thank you for believing in this book from the beginning and for the edits that improved it exponentially.
Everyone at Crooked Lane Books who helped to bring this book to life.
It may not take a village, but it certainly takes a (talented and hardworking) team!
My critique partners, Lindsey Duga and Richard Pearson.
The writing life would be much more difficult, and much less fun, without you.
My immediate and extended family, especially my son, Thomas.
My friends, in real life and online. Special thanks to all my supportive author friends.
And not last, nor least, but best—my husband, Kevin G. Weavil.
Thanks, as always, for being my favorite beta reader and fan. Love you!
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